


Reprobates

by egocentrifuge



Category: Mythical Entertainment, Rhett & Link
Genre: Dry Humping, First Time, M/M, Tickling, college fic, the infamous i'm dead move
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-12-26 01:19:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18272873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/egocentrifuge/pseuds/egocentrifuge
Summary: Humiliating Link, that’s not weird. That’s just two friends and - you know, Rhett trying to find a way to remind Link that he’s littler and weaker than Rhett is, that it’s stupid for him to try'n wrestle.





	Reprobates

Rhett can trace back the start of what he calls  _pacifistic humiliation_  to the time in seventh grade he got Link in a full nelson and something in Link’s shoulder had  _popped_. Link had let out a little gasp that was - even in the grand scheme of the universe’s cruelties - so much worse than any scream Rhett had ever heard in the horror films he and his momma watched, and Rhett had nearly lost his lunch. In the end Link had tentatively decided that he was okay, just pinched something, but Rhett hadn’t been able to really give himself over to the true spirit of wrestling after that.

That didn’t mean that Link stopped jumping on him, though - if anything, the bigger Rhett got, the more Link seemed to want to fight him. Rhett can get that that he’s like, basically the pinnacle of manliness, but - okay, the truth is? Rhett’s actually the tiniest bit…scared. He’s massive, alright? And Link ain’t exactly small, but he doesn’t seem to have any concept that Rhett is like, freaking  _huge_. Doesn’t freaking remember any of the times Rhett had accidentally really  _hurt_ him, either, like he’s an idiot dog with a five-second memory and all the loyalty that comes with it and not a grown ass man who understands there are consequences to his actions. Rhett wants to tell Link he needs to be more careful, but he’s been thinking about it a few years now and there’s really no cool way to tell your friend that you’re worried about hurting them.

He feels like a freaking genius when he comes up with the idea to make Link not  _want_  to fight him. To fight back with the thing he knows Link hates most in the world (besides tomatoes and soggy bread and chalk dust, because, alright, Link’s kind of a finicky dude): Embarrassment.

Link’s a study in extremes, contradictions, and Rhett wouldn’t have believed it had you told him back when they met that Link would turn out to be a daredevil. Now, though, nineteen and the smartest guy he knows, Rhett gets that there’s some kinda difference in Link’s head when it comes to the limelight. As long as he’s in control of the stupid, stupid things he does, Link’s happy, even if he’s busy getting slapped for drawing a bad joke out too long. Fumbling an improvised rap in front of the school, that’s fine. Being shown up in private? Absolutely unacceptable.

The more Rhett thinks about it, the funnier it is. Almost as funny as how red Link goes when he can’t get Rhett’s weight off'a him, is huffing and puffing and sweating as he squirms, if by funny you mean kind of stomach churning and, okay,  _exciting_.

Rhett knows a lot of stuff. He’s smart. Knows that as much as he doesn’t want to hurt Link  _seriously_ , he’s kind of uh,  _into_  hurting him in the short-term. Rhett knows the word for that kind of thing, but every time he’s heard it it’s always been wrapped up in abnormality, deviancy. He'n Link are already toeing the line between Best Friends and Reprobates, so it feels… risky, to look too close at that feeling.

Humiliating Link, though, that’s not weird. That’s just two friends and - you know, Rhett trying to find a way to remind Link that he’s littler and weaker than Rhett is, that it’s stupid for him to try'n wrestle. A way for Rhett to try and get Link to care a little bit more about his bodily situation.

Rhett has time to consider all of this today while Link’s thrashing and squirming beneath him, all his best efforts amounting to nothing but a bit of friction that they’re both old hats at ignoring. Rhett sighs, doing his best to imply that Link’s boring him. It earns Rhett another buck that actually threatens to unseat him for a moment before he locks down his muscles and bears Link back down to their questionably clean dorm room carpet. This time, it’s Link’s turn to let out a breath, though his is less sigh and more… damning. It don’t matter, because neither of their daddies are around to hear it, so no one’s getting sent home today. It’s just Rhett and Link and their Wal-Mart rug.

“I -  _hate_  - you,” Link puffs, each word coming rougher and more pinched than the last. It’s music to Rhett’s ears. He doesn’t say anything, because he knows Link can’t multitask and if he starts a conversation now the tension’ll be ruined. Instead, Rhett savors the way Link’s breath is coming quickly, labored with how heavy Rhett is on top of him; the smell of the stale sweat on the back Link’s neck.

It’s cruel, to breathe out another sigh across Link’s skin, right into his hair and ear. But Rhett’s gotta, y'know, to teach Link his lesson.

Instead of the cursing that Rhett expects, Link - shudders. Goes still. Ten seconds stretch to twenty stretch to two minutes where Rhett waits for Link to…well, do  _something_. Struggle, tell Rhett to get off, sigh himself; instead, Link is quiet enough beneath Rhett that Rhett starts to worry that he’s crushed the life right out of him.

Rhett gives it another little while because a minute doesn’t mean much in the scheme of things if Link’s dead, but’s probably at least as agonizing to Link as it is to Rhett if he’s just faking. Only when he’s twitching with nerves does Rhett bring his hands up oh-so-slowly to take some of his weight, glance beneath him.

Mostly, Rhett just sees the back of Link’s head, most of Link’s profile covered with the hair he hasn’t bothered to trim since it started to get cold. Pink cheeks and dark eyelashes over -  _yes_ , open eyes. Rhett knew he was faking, of course. Obviously. Just like Link knows Rhett is uh, just checking on the - their game.

They survey each other for a long, tense second - Rhett a bit embarrassed to be caught being  _worried_ and Link thinking god-knows-what but probably about how great a friend or how strong Rhett is as he lays there panting - and then Link starts scrambling away. The type of adrenaline normally reserved for flying bugs shoots through Rhett as he lunges after Link, and he’ll openly admit that he isn’t as careful as he should be when he grabs Link’s waist and yanks him back into place beneath Rhett.

Something must hurt - the carpet dragging on Link’s belly, the grip Rhett’s got on Link’s sides, Link’s pride - because Link cries out like he hasn’t since they were kids. The sound reverberates through Rhett and he jerks back like he’s been shocked, but it’s too late, Link’s gone still as death.

This time, it’s different; Rhett knows Link ain’t dead. But he’s kind of wishing he was himself, instead, because there was no way Link hadn’t felt Rhett's… _reaction_.  It was as sudden as it was completely inappropriate, dangerous, and it’s Rhett’s turn to burn with shame as Link rolls over onto his back beneath him.

It had to be rug-burn that did it, Rhett realizes distantly, detached. Link’s shirt has ridden up all the way to his nipples and there’s a pink streak all down his abs from the shagpile. Rhett takes it in like a man on death row does his last meal, sitting there on his heels above Link’s thighs waiting for Link to gather his wits about him and tell Rhett off for spitting in the face of God, or whatever.

He’s kind of having a crisis, so Rhett thinks it’s pretty reasonable he doesn’t realize that Link’s as hard as Rhett is until Link reaches up to take Rhett’s hand, drags it to where his belly’s rubbed raw and sore, and Rhett sees something important, something twitch in his peripheral in sympathy.

Nothing happens for a moment, the two of them held locked in place as they wait to be struck down, but as the seconds give way into minutes Rhett finally risks rubbing his thumb deliberate-like over where Link’s skin is broken.

“Sh-shoot, Rhett, that t-tickles,” Link whispers, eyes wide. Rhett drinks in Link’s pinched expression, the way his fingers are tangled and pulling at the carpet, the too-quick rise and fall of his chest.

“That  _tickles?”_  Rhett repeats, incredulous. He scrapes his thumbnail down Link’s abs and gets one of those yelps from earlier in response, but like this, Rhett can see Link’s eyebrows screwing up in a way that don’t seem all that bad. He does it again, harder, and Link’s hips squirm between Rhett’s knees. It’s difficult to make himself look, like he’s trying to stare directly at the sun, but Rhett manages to confirm that Link is, in fact, still just as hard as Rhett is.

Rhett wants to tease, but there’s not a lot that feels safe to say when Link’s held beneath him purely by entropy. Instead, curious, he switches to the pads of his fingers and just barely ghosts them down Link’s sides, trying to tickle him in earnest.

Something between a laugh and a groan tears its way from Link’s chest and suddenly it’s too much and not enough all at once.

_“Link,”_  Rhett says, ass thudding down onto Link’s thighs to keep him in place as he turns his fingers into claws and pushes them up to scrape across Link’s nipples. His voice is a growl in his chest, torn from him by the situation, the tension. “You got some wires crossed up there, brother? This get you off?” It’s so completely inappropriate, but based on the way Link’s hips are jerking up into Rhett’s he’s feeling the same kind of risky.

“No,” he’s gasping, though. “Rhett - gosh, you can’t - ” The rest of Link’s protests are lost to laughter, little giggles that have his entire chest convulsing as Rhett alternates between roughness and teasing. Rhett’s pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to take the same kinda punishment, but Link hasn’t moved his arms from where they’re sprawled above his head.

_“Rhett,”_  Link gasps, in warning, as Rhett scoots unceremoniously til’ he’s straddling where Link’s hard and grinding down against him, desperate for stimulation himself. “Oh, brother, you can’t - ”

Whatever Link is trying to say is lost as Rhett finds a rhythm between his questing hands and restless hips. Link’s a live wire beneath him. It’s too much to feel the way his muscles jump as he’s tickled, too much to clamp down to keep Link’s thrashing controlled, too much to see his eyes squeeze shut in wordless agony as Link shivers all over and rocks a few more times up against Rhett before going still and twitchy and quiet.

It’s enough for Rhett to realize that he’s just freaking made Link  _come_ for the same suffocating feeling of too-much to come over Rhett, wrap tight around his spine where he’s still shoving Link against the rug with erratic thrusts. Mindlessly, he leans down to get his mouth on Link’s neck, sink his teeth into the delicate skin there to muffle whatever damning sounds his body is trying to make; Link’s loose limbs tense and a shocked, wounded noise tears from him and that’s it, that’s all Rhett can takes before he goes slack.

They lay there silently, panting, in much the same position that started things. Rhett thinks he’d be happy to lay there on top of Link not addressing things for the rest of his life, because the alternative is to peel himself away and give up this moment forever or, God forbid, try and talk about it.

“Hey, Rhett.”

Link doesn’t sound upset, doesn’t sound, in fact, like they’ve done anything out of the ordinary. Rhett lifts his head slowly to squint at Link and finds Link smiling lazily. There’s a hickey under his jaw that Rhett knows, objectively, that he left there. It’s difficult not to stare.

“You know you’re never gonna get me to stop wrasslin’ with you now, right?”

Rhett flops back over Link to hide his smile and flaming cheeks. Link lets out a little  _oof_ , beneath him, but ever the daredevil, his arms come up to wrap around Rhett’s back, turn it into an embrace


End file.
